


Smithereens

by strawberrykait



Series: Smithereens [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Gen, Mild Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-06
Updated: 2010-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrykait/pseuds/strawberrykait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are assigned to scope out a possible location for the Carrows in Bristol, England. Undercover as a Muggle couple, the former enemies must overcome their personal history and prejudices to utilize each other’s strengths to capture the escaped Death Eaters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smithereens

**Author's Note:**

> Story inspired by [Couple's Portrait](http://dramione.org/viewstory.php?sid=522&chapter=1) by Kalina_blue 
> 
> [Story Banner](http://i71.photobucket.com/albums/i130/modernmedea/1311976555.png) by Wildflower4evr 
> 
> **Available as a Podfic:** [Part 1](https://soundcloud.com/thefictionsvoice2/smithereens-part-1) and [Part 2](https://soundcloud.com/thefictionsvoice2/smithereens-part-2)

Hermione Granger had charmed her quill to pirouette in its inkwell. Not usually one for waste, the slowly rotating feather gave her almost the same satisfaction as doodling out her problems on the notepad had. But she was not at home and therefore could not be seen drawing repetitive boxes or squiggles or little flowers blooming on a bridge. No, here she had to at least appear to be working, even when internalizing.

This was not exactly where Hermione had seen herself at twenty-five. Ten years ago, just before the Second War broke out officially, she had envisioned a future in which she was the Head of the Muggle Liaison Office, or the Department for Ethical Treatment of Magical Creatures (a department she herself would have fashioned from the existing Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures), to have the first of three beautiful children and to be married to the love of her life.

Well, at least she was engaged.

Following the final battle, it was Hermione who appealed to her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, to return to Hogwarts to complete their seventh year and earn their N.E.W.T.s, as they would have otherwise. But the celebrity status that came from defeating the world's darkest wizard had helped them bypass standard procedure and be accepted directly into the Auror program. Kingsley Shacklebolt put in a good (if completely unnecessary) word for all three, but Hermione graciously refused the offer.

Completing her education was nonnegotiable, despite having to be separated from the young men who meant the world to her for an entire year. But she had done it, and a small, hidden part of her felt decidedly proud of this accomplishment, of her resolve. She earned her N.E.W.T.s and her place in the Auror program, even if it was not her top career choice. She was a skilled Auror, accomplished even, but she was good at a great many things. Except this was the only way the _Golden Trio_ could continue to be together. Her final year at school, despite having friends and familiars surrounding her, despite knowing what she was doing was not only important but the _right_ thing to do, had been a very lonely time and quite difficult to complete on her own. She would do whatever was necessary now to not have to be alone like that again.

"Granger, you've got an assignment." Robards flopped a folder upon her desk when he approached, eyeing the swirling quill. Quickly she reached out for the distraction under the guise of note taking. "We've, um..." Gawain Robards began again, "We've had some leads on the whereabouts of the Carrows."

Before Robards had even finished his statement, Hermione had pawed open the file, bypassing the last known photos of the brother and sister pair as well as the previous reports of their known crimes.

Alecto and Amycus Carrow had participated in Dumbledore's death and had been placed as _professors_ at Hogwarts, teaching the students that Muggles were little better than animals, and taking over the Defence against the Dark Arts class. Under their tutelage, the student body of Hogwarts learned first-hand how to torture their fellow classmates and were _reprimanded_ if they refused. Corporal punishment had never been more brutal than at the hands of the Carrows.

The pair had been apprehended following their capture by Professor Minerva McGonagall and Luna Lovegood, but had escaped within a year. Since then their crimes against both the Wizard and Muggle worlds were extraordinary. Even if Hermione did not particularly consider her job to be ideal, she did take a perverse joy in tracking down dark wizards such as this pair.

Robards continued speaking to her as she familiarized herself with the latest details.

"Last seen around Bristol. Our intelligence believes them to be hiding in the Muggle world," he offered, saving her the few paragraphs between herself and this titbit in the report.

"Really? How can that be?"

"Dunno, exactly. That's why we need you to go undercover for us, check this out, see how much is true."

The idea of going undercover excited Hermione somewhat, but she knew the others would hardly be able to contain their exhilaration. Of late there had been little for the Aurors to do, since most dark wizards had been captured or killed during that final showdown at Hogwarts. The occasional Death Eater or supporter popped up now and again, but none with the history of the Carrows. For Ron and Harry, this would be the big one. Internally she began the missive she would owl to the pair as soon as Robards left her cubicle.

"We need someone intelligent enough to not go in wand-blazing; who has the wherewithal to not blow this too soon," he spoke lowly so that only she might hear. "Someone who can get us close to capturing the Carrows and succeed without getting himself killed in the process."

Hermione nodded her assent, eager to begin.

"Which is why we're giving you a partner, Granger." Robards looked away as he spoke, anticipating fallout. "Someone from a sub-department, a Hit Wizard..."

"Oh, but I thought..."

"No, we can't take a risk on using Potter on this case, Granger," Robards cut her off, glancing quickly at her disappointed face. "We need someone who can go down for an extended period. And the likelihood that this will pan out is slim at best."

 _W_ _hich is why_ you _are being chosen, Hermione_ , she mulishly kept to herself. _No need to waste our top Aurors when the bookish one will suffice._

"We need a female Auror for this, Granger, and you're the best." Her pride reinflated somewhat, and she was embarrassed by her bitterness. "You'll be leading the two-man team. Williamson and I will brief you in an hour. Your new partner should be here before long." He stood to leave her cubicle.

"And who should I be expecting, sir?"

Robards sighed. "Draco Malfoy."

\---------

"But he's a Death Eater!"

Hermione slapped the air between them, attempting to shush her fiancé in the crowded bistro. In a demonstrative lower voice she replied, "Former. A _former_ Death Eater."

"How can Robards be serious about pairing you two up? How did that ferret even get into the Department?" Voraciously Ron stabbed at his steak, shoving forkfuls into his mouth and barely chewing them before gouging more.

"He's a Hit Wizard, Ron, not an Auror, which is why they've paired us up. Robards and Williamson think our backgrounds and specialties will augment each other's, but I have my doubts."

"I'll say. For starters, I doubt you'll get two miles out before the git tries to throttle you. He hates you, and," Ron's eyes bulged as though the thought had just occurred to him, "he's a Muggle hater! How do they reckon he'll make it in the Muggle world for however long you'll be gone?" Instantly his indignation turned into a huff.

"I'm sorry, Ron," said Hermione, knowing where this was leading, again. "But you know I can't divulge the details of my assignment, even to you or Harry." She really did hate keeping things from her intended, primarily because it was near impossible to do so while living with him, but also because it created a wedge in their relationship; something unshared, like their time apart six years ago. "All I can tell you is that we're leaving at the end of the week."

"And where are you going?"

Hermione cocked her head sideways, giving him a look.

"Okay. Well, when will you come home, then?"

Her pained expression was answer enough. "I just don't want to lose you, Hermione," he whispered, reaching for her hand.

The simple gemstone on her left hand glittered in the sunlight, symbolizing the promise he'd made to her, to be faithful and to love her for always.

\---------

"Malfoy, I hope that we can put the past behind us and make a fresh start on this assignment," Hermione practiced under her breath to the mirror as she dressed. Behind her on the bed was her suitcase, ready to depart. Having only been allowed one bag was not a problem for Hermione, for she had perfected the art of travelling light years before; she would not be lacking anything she deemed necessary this time around. "I hope we are bigger than our past...I hope--, I _know_ \--"

How did she expect to spend the next possibly several weeks living with Draco Malfoy, of all people, if she could not even manage to turn over a new leaf? Frustrated, she fussed with her hair once more then gave up. "What's done is done, now it's time to do what needs to be done."

With a flick of her wand, the suitcase zipped itself closed and followed behind her as she made her way downstairs.

\---------

The Portkey had been where her instructions said it would be, but even so she was not quite expecting such a grubby old sock. Being the adult she was, Hermione had no qualms handling the crusty item, but her inner child was squicked out. Seconds later she arrived in Bristol, in a shadowy alley near the docks. According to the parchment, she was to meet up with Williamson and Malfoy across the way.

Moments later she spotted the gateway to the apartment courtyard, tapped in the assigned code, and continued on through to the fifth building, where almost immediately she spied Williamson. She picked up her pace.

"Right then, up we go!" Behind Williamson was Malfoy, looking surly as usual. She had not seen him much since the trials in the aftermath of the Second War, other than the occasional appearance in either the _Daily Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_ , a periodical she emphatically denied reading. From what she recalled of him, Draco Malfoy had not changed much. Maybe he was thinner on top, but really it was difficult to say. Hermione herself had the same qualms as Ron did about this assignment, even more than he had voiced, yet she kept hers to herself, knowing that this was the job and the job must be done.

The complex was rather postmodern, in her opinion, having a unique design to the buildings themselves. The entire Bristol area, she had read, had undergone a reconstruction period, turning the formerly industrial harbourside area into a chic urban sprawl for the stylish upper-class. Frankly, she was shocked the Ministry would put them up in such a swanky place as this. The three entered a lift which took them to the fourth floor.

"I know there's no need to go over the file with either of you, surely, but do you have any questions not anticipated in the packet?" The doors parted to reveal a bare corridor, the only colours coming from the outer doors of the other tenants. _Our soon-to-be neighbo_ _u_ _rs_ , she mused, her mind distracted by the Muggles who lived behind each, whom she would pass in the hall day after day until they succeeded.

Neither responded to Williamson until they had entered their new quarters. Williamson stood back against the door while they looked about the place. It was furnished modestly, to Hermione's relief. Glancing over at Malfoy, she judged his quick steps through the few rooms afforded them to not be satisfactory. His sniff confirmed her assessment.

"Just a quick review," their superior began, directing their attention back to the packet he held. "The Carrows were seen recently at the Wight Tavern, just down the way, by a Miss Moira Smothers, squib. You are to observe, assess, and once you have confirmed, bring them in. Do whatever is necessary, short of killing, of course. Due to an unforeseen condition," he cleared his throat, and Hermione noticed he diverted his eyes from her new partner, "we will have to forego the initial plan to use Polyjuice Potion."

"Then how are we to maintain our identities, sir?" Baffled, Hermione began to feel the first blossom of resentment against Malfoy for this alteration. Within her luggage she already had a nearly completed base of the potion.

"Glamours are insufficient for several reasons, so that leaves only the old fashioned way: keep a low profile." Williamson continued with his additions to their orders.

"I don't see why we couldn't resort to _some_ kind of disguise-" Her mind raced through the possibilities, both magical and Muggle.

"Unfortunately, Granger, you will be living among Muggles here and not at liberty to use magic as freely as accustomed. Just like the Ministry, we fear the Death Eaters would be able to trace any magical activity, so short of wearing a wig, colouring your hair-" Malfoy scoffed at that, attracting Hermione's attention again for a second, "or permanently altering your features, in whatever fashion, you will just have to use caution. Finish the job quickly, and it will be a moot point."

Hermione paced the small flat, her mind searching frantically for some resolution only to be stumped. Her hand reached up to gently tug on her lower lip, thinking. Her ring caught the muted light from the front windows. "I assume I'll need to take off my engagement ring," Hermione reached to remove it.

"That will hardly be necessary," Williamson acknowledged Hermione. "The engagement ring fits in nicely with the back story we've devised for you two."

"What back story?" Malfoy at last spoke, plucking the question from Hermione's mind. Aghast, the pair stared at Williamson then each other, both reaching the same conclusion.

"Well," he guffawed, "it wouldn't be right to have Hermio-, I mean, _Sarah_ , living with a man, now would it?" Williamson's old fashioned views on sexual politics withstanding, Hermione could not seem to find her voice to protest. But Malfoy could.

"This wasn't in the profile! Nothing was said about having to...-to," he sputtered, lacking the words to describe his evident horror. The feeling was mutual. Malfoy's eyes bulged, his pale eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

"Really, I don't think such an assumption is valid in today's world, Williamson! Men and women no longer face the same expectations of previous generations when it comes to matrimony-" Hermione attempted to circumvent the illogical addition to the mission.

"And I have a girlfriend," Malfoy protested. "And standards!"

"Be that as it may, the assignment calls for a ‘young Muggle couple'. We need you to observe the area and the occupants for any signs of the Carrows. If they _are_ here, then here is where you'll stay. And to stay here you need to blend in with the tenants, which are young, successful Muggles-" Robards was losing his temper. "Granger is the best female Auror the Department's seen in decades. Her scorecard is as brilliant as her mind _and_ her instincts are _top-notch_."

Malfoy seethed at the compliments, turning away from the pair of them to stomp about the main room. He turned back to examine Hermione, noting her engagement ring. "Like I would buy such a piddling stone to give a woman I loved? I wouldn't give something so insignificant as _that_ to a woman unless I wanted her to leave!" His dismissive sneer was enough to enrage Hermione and as she opened her mouth to retort, Williamson interrupted.

"And don't forget, Malfoy," Williamson snapped, "y _ou_ came to _me_."

\---------

The hours dragged with little more to do than wait and watch out their fourth storey window. The view was lovely enough, but they were not there to simply daydream across the river. Rather this flat was chosen specifically because of its proximity to both the Wapping Wharf docks as well as the tavern where the suspects were seen with a third, unidentified person. The assumption was that the Carrows could be planning to leave the country by boat, a decidedly Muggle mode of transportation, undetected by the Ministry. Or so they assumed.

Even so, there truly was little to engage Hermione's mind within the small flat. Draco had set himself up on the sofa, taking over the coffee table for his base of operations, leaving Hermione the kitchen bar. Here she had unpacked her materials. The advantages of a shrinking spell were quite nice, she decided, laughing under her breath as she suddenly recalled a scene from _Mary Poppins_.

Malfoy cut his eyes in her direction but made no comment. Surrounding him were stacks of various photos and notes. His brow was furrowed in concentration. He had not spoken a word since Williamson left. There was quite a heated argument between the three of them just before he departed, in which he requested they surrender their wands. As difficult as it was to accept that not only were they expected to not perform "unnecessary magic," but to be left completely helpless against two notorious Death Eaters was asking too much. It was bad enough, they agreed, that they had to impersonate lovers. Defending their right to be armed was the first time she and Malfoy had agreed on anything. Surprisingly, they succeeded.

She huffed at the reminder. Although Hermione was accustomed to long hours of quiet research, his silence was unnerving. The past crept into her thoughts, flashes of humiliation and fear peppered with anger for what he let happen at Hogwarts. She prided herself on being a fair person, for offering forgiveness, if not for the other person then for her own peace of mind. Yet she was hard-pressed to admit even to herself that she struggled to forgive someone who showed no remorse whatsoever.

Itching for a distraction, she turned again to the file. Three Muggles had been murdered a week ago near Swindon, their deaths and town being the only noted connection. For the next...however long... she would be Sarah, a university student, engaged to David, unemployed. _Simple enough_ , she considered. _The profile set for Malfoy reduces the likelihood of being spotted outside of the building, but surely he'll get anxious, not having anyone to see besides me._ Bitterly, Hermione wondered what exactly Malfoy's purpose was in this scenario. She would have to question Smothers by herself, which, truth be told, she preferred. She had nothing against having a partner, per se; it was just this particular partner who irked her. The natural conclusion Hermione drew as to why he was even there was the simple need for physical back-up. Her mind drifted back to what Williamson had said. Innate curiosity was impossible to resist.

"Malfoy," she quietly began, keeping her head down towards the file before her, casting her eyes towards him. He did not acknowledge. "What did Williamson mean earlier?"

If she had not been watching him so closely she would have missed the twitch of his hand as he laid a page back down. Outside a train rolled past, occasionally sounding two long whistles, followed by several short ones. Twilight had fallen and was casting shadows across the courtyard towards the river. He ignored everything, especially Hermione. But she was not easily dissuaded.

"Do you happen to know why we can't use Polyjuice Potion, then? What could have changed their minds?"

Several moments passed with no reply. Finally accepting his rudeness, she turned her back on him, leaning against the counter in a huff. She began to think out loud. "It's true, the Death Eaters could possibly detect the brewing process, but not as likely as they would detect us casting a glamour... Surely it's not a housing ordinance! And if it were, well, the Ministry could sidestep that easily enough..." Her train of thought continued, expressed by half-formed quandaries followed by head shakes and the occasional nod. Caught up with her own conclusions she failed to see him finally react to her ceaseless chattering.

"And just who, exactly, would you have us imitate? Each other?"

She graced him with a look usually reserved for Ron and Harry. "One of the other tenants, of course. That way we would not be recognized-"

"And would not only run the risk of being seen by _ourselves_ , or those who know us... _them_."

"That's less likely than being identified with no disguise at all," she parlayed.

"What amazing insight you have, Granger! Seriously, I am shocked that you three survived the war, let alone took down the Dark Lord. And to think, _you_ were the brains of that outfit...heh." Malfoy dismissed her, returning to his own file.

Several seconds ticked past in silence. Finally, he broke down.

"Polyjuice Potion won't work for me."

For a moment Hermione could have been mistaken for a fish, her mouth working like such. Unfortunately for Malfoy, she recovered and cried, "Why not?"

"If you must know," he snarled, "I'm allergic to knotgrass. Why else do you think I had to use Crabbe and Goyle to watch the Room of Requirement in sixth year? If I could've disguised myself while working on the cabinet I would have." Abruptly he rose. His pointy features were emphasized greatly by the sneer he sent her way before stomping out of the room. "I'm going to bed; I have an eventful day of saving the world tomorrow."

\---------

Morning came by way of her alarm buzzing. Refreshed, Hermione quickly made her way towards the single lavatory then dressed for the day. _Today's objective:_ _find Smothers_. Miss Moira Smothers, squib, age 48, claimed to have seen Amycus and Alecto Carrow days before at a local pub called Wight Tavern. According to the report, Smothers said a third person whom she could not identify was with them, and the trio were nearly causing a scene. Being simply a squib, the witness did not feel safe enough to follow the suspects out of the tavern, but contacted the authorities. The file listed her address being close to the University, so that was where Hermione was headed first.

The guise of being a student made her mouth water in anticipation - think of all the books she could devour during, if given the time!

Sighing with a little regret, she traipsed towards the kitchen for a quick breakfast to go. Finding Malfoy standing over the sink in said kitchen, sipping coffee and fingering her note pages, was certainly a surprise. _What nerve, pawing through my papers_ , she huffed. _He certainly would not extend the privilege!_ He had not noticed her yet, so Hermione took the moment to observe.

His hair was still as light as when they were children, but thinner, it seemed. His pointy face was harsher now with age, the softness of youth giving way to maturity. She barely repressed the snort that came from that thought: a mature Malfoy? She doubted that even surviving the Second War could have had that deep an impact on Draco Malfoy. He frowned at whatever she had written, as though finding her handwriting difficult to make out. Hermione watched him further, but her mind recalled the Death Eater trials where all three Malfoys were indicted. Lucius Malfoy received the harshest sentencing - ten years in Azkaban, whereas Narcissa Malfoy was given five years in Azkaban, followed by two years in house arrest, thanks to Harry's testimony. For the attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore along with aiding and abetting in the Death Eater raid on Hogwarts that same night, Draco Malfoy was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Who was she to decide if he had been punished enough?

Hermione blinked when she noticed something out of place. "Where did you get that?"

He did not seem surprised to hear her question, which irritated Hermione a bit. "Coffee pot. There." He motioned with the cup in his left hand, a quite large and shiny wristwatch catching the light.

She approached. "No, I meant the watch." Hermione tried to place herself in the limited space near her paperwork without being too close to him. "It's _Muggle_."

He finally looked at her over his mug as he sipped, then set it down on top of the stack nearest to where she was surreptitiously reaching. "It's called adaptability, Granger. Surely your big brain knows the concept? Or does that bushy hair of yours not leave room for a brain?"

Disbelief crossed her face before setting into loathing for the man. She knew better than to let him goad her, and yet she opened herself to that one. She chose to be the bigger person and simply ignore him. As she peeked in cabinets for something to take with her to eat on the way, Malfoy finished his coffee and left it on her papers. "Better clean this up, _Sarah_. I've got to run."

"What makes you think I'm going to clean up after you? I didn't make this mess!"

"Because, Granger, cleaning is elves' work, or in your case, women's work." And then he was gone, leaving her utterly astounded.

\---------

Thirty minutes later, Hermione was still cross. How could she let him rile her up over something so insignificant? Ron would have said something very similar to her any other day, and yet she did not get as angry as she had this morning. She knew what the problem was; for a single moment she regarded Draco Malfoy as a human being, deserving pity for his life, and she knew better. She slung her haversack over one shoulder and hurried along. The university was not far, but she was less certain about the directions she had copied down.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted quick movement, someone ducking back into a doorway. When she paused to look, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Heeding Williamson's reminder, she did not resort to magic to reveal whatever or whoever had hidden from view, so instead she chose to investigate. Surprised to find it unlocked, the door led into an unlit building. High windows up above were caked with grime and offered muted light at best, but after a moment her eyes adjusted and she could make out wooden crates reaching several meters tall. She withdrew her wand, Williamson be damned. In her mind she heard the faint echo of Moody: _Constant vigilance!_ With caution Hermione proceeded through the storeroom.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The only tracks through the thick coating of dust and rubbish were her own. Minutes passed uneventfully and Hermione felt foolish. _Like the mission would come to a head this early? Silly, really._ Away went her wand and she turned for the exit. As she did so, a grunt came from her left and she was taken down. Pushing her against the cement floor, the person above her weighed a ton and was definitely male, judging by his size. She struggled valiantly to keep her assailant from trapping her arms. Silently she Accio'd a crate, which luckily hit him hard enough to knock his balance just enough for her to scrabble out from under him. Before she turned completely around to face him, her wand was back out and firing. "Expelliarmus!"

Through the kicked up dust she could barely make out a figure in a wizard's cloak sidestepping her charm. He shot off a non-verbal spell her way, which she only just escaped. He ran and she followed. She was aware that this was likely not the best move to make, being led further into the labyrinthine storeroom. "Lumos!"

Hermione's mind was racing faster than her legs as she pursued. The dark figure continued to escape every spell flung at him, tripping over spilled crates of vegetables and boxes of unknown contents meant to hamper her. Her eyes darted all around, anticipating the other sibling. If she were honest, Hermione found it difficult to differentiate between the two Carrows, being so piggy and stout as they were. No one else emerged, though. At last her attacker cleared a row and vanished from her sight. She aimed an Impediment curse, but missed.

Her attacker hurled another silent curse her way, igniting several cases and creating an obstruction. Expecting him to make a break for it, she hollered out, "Colloportus!" The door in which she entered not five minutes ago squelched shut, but she was too late. Rounding the barricade of fire she saw he had eluded her.

\---------

Ten minutes were spent debating with herself. Should she return to the flat to inform Malfoy and the Ministry what had just occurred or should she continue on to Smothers? It was then she realized that Williamson did not leave a way for them to contact him, since magic was denied unless dire, and there was no chance at all the fireplace was hooked up for to the Floo network. Finally she chose Smothers.

Smothers' walk-up was quite rundown and dark when she arrived half an hour later. There was no answer at the main door. She had tried buzzing the other occupants, but held little hope any would let her in. Defeated for the time being, she hurried back to her flat. Malfoy was had not returned and Hermione's mind immediately turned to treachery.

An hour later, Malfoy walked through the door, looking dishevelled. That, of course, did not stop her. "Where have you been?" Up from the sofa she sprang. "You weren't supposed to even leave the flat and here you've been gone for hours!"

He ignored her shrieking, collapsing where she had been sitting, his eyes squeezed tightly as though they alone could keep her voice out. Judging by his expression, she knew he heard her, choosing instead to ignore her, so she saved her breath. He must have been burning from the silent glares she aimed his way for finally he acknowledged her.

"Unlike some swots who skipped off to school, _I_ was actually trying to hunt down some Death Eaters." Malfoy rubbed his eyes, wincing.

"To return to the ranks, more like it," she muttered, but apparently not quietly enough because Malfoy's head snapped back as he jumped up from the sofa. Anger bloomed across his cheeks. Hermione refused to back down. "And I didn't _skip off to school_ _._ In fact, how do you know where I was headed this morning? Where you following me?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I was attacked, but of course _you_ know that!"

"I won't waste my time trying to understand your plebeian brain, Granger. You obviously have no idea how to operate on a mission of this magnitude." His dismissal irritated Hermione more than even his insult. In a bored voice, he continued. "Just like so many of your mindless companions, you've underestimated my abilities."

"Oh, believe me; I wouldn't put much past you. Did you find your chums, Malfoy? Was it you who told them where to find me, in the storeroom this morning?" Hermione's voice rose with every passing second, becoming shrill.

"What are you on about?" His eyes squinted as if seeing some strange, alien creature flapping its arms before him, dancing a jig.

"Or was it _you_ who attacked me?" Slowly she put two and two together and paused. It had been a very long time she since she was truly afraid of Draco Malfoy, but perhaps she had placed too much trust in her superiors. She should have listened to Ron's fears. "What game are you playing, Malfoy?"

"Always so smart, aren't you, Granger?" Tension was stretching his mouth into a fine line. He stomped towards her, but she refused to be intimidated. Up close she could clearly make out the beginnings of a bruise just beneath his right eye. His generally neat clothes were dishevelled, his shirt half untucked from his Muggle jeans. She blinked, trying to recall if she managed to get any punches in that could have caused it.

"Oh, yes, now you get it, don't you?" he drawled. "The world no longer revolves around Precious Potter, nor is it out to get him and his band of losers. I'm surprised, Granger, that you've made it as far as you have in this line of work, being so inept. Tell me, did you get in on the fame and glory of your illustrious past, or was simply knowing Potter enough for you to float in on his billowing cloak?"

When she only stood there, mouth agape, he took the opportunity to step back, looking her up and down. Hermione could feel herself blushing at the scrutiny. Finally she found her voice.

"You're petty tactics are really pathetic. Did you think you could insult me enough to overlook your guilt?"

Now it was his turn to imitate a fish. Hermione took the opportunity to pursue him through the flat. "I am team leader here, not you, and you are my underling. The mission says you are not to leave this flat, all because you cannot handle a little Polyjuice Potion. You will follow protocol, Malfoy, whether you like me or not." Her nostrils flared, her eyes flashing angrily up at him. "I will not let you jeopardize this mission, Malfoy. I'm on to you." Fully flushed at this point, Malfoy's fists were clenching and releasing at his side. She watched as he took three attempts to calm himself down before replying.

"I don't know what you're accusing me of-"

"How stupid do-"

"- a damn fine Hit Wizard. I don't need to prove myself to anyone, let alone a Mudblood like _you_! I brought down Rookwood and Selwyn, by myself. I don't need a partner, some damn _twit_ telling me what to do. I'm better than that. And you!"

"So why not quit, then? Go back to Robards and tell him you want off this case, if you're so much better than I am?"

He marched away from her, fuming, "Because I can't!"

"Why should you care about this mission, since you are such a greater wizard? Why is this so important to you?" Hermione followed him into the kitchen where he began slamming cabinet doors to keep from hitting her. "What did Robards mean yesterday? What are you getting out of this, Malfoy?"

"Leave it," he growled. Before she could protest, he spun around. "We're not friends, Granger; we're partners. We're supposed to be a team here. The same side, but you're so... determined... to persecute me-"

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you! I spent six years of my life being torment-"

"We were children, for Merlin's sake! Let it go!"

"How dare you try to blow this off as though-"

"I've served my time, Granger," he calmly spoke.

The pair stood in the small kitchen, glaring at each other, their chests heaving. Something in his tone caused Hermione's chest to tighten. Like being doused with freezing water, she realized she was guilty of the same prejudice she usually expected from people like Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy broke the gaze first. Without touching her, he stormed from the small room back down the hall. He returned a moment later with an unopened bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, ripped the cap off and filled a cup halfway. Before a second cup he tilted the bottle her way and she declined. Hermione knew she ought to apologize, but her inner child, or maybe it was her pride, kept her silent.

"Tried to talk to Smothers today."

It took her a moment to understand that was a statement and not a question. Grudgingly she admitted she had the same idea but was unsuccessful. Hermione told him what happened and he listened quietly, fiddling with the utensils left to dry on the counter from the morning. Without going into too much assumption, she offered a few ideas on who and why, but she was not ready for full disclosure. No matter what Malfoy told her, she was still hesitant to trust him absolutely.

When she had finished she let out a breath of relief. Needing something to do now that she was finished, Hermione gently pushed him aside and began going through cupboards, looking for something to turn into some semblance of a meal. Still he kept quiet and out of her way.

The Ministry, or Williamson, or possibly some lackey for all they knew, had not stocked the shelves as she would have liked, but there were enough basic staples to make a passable meal. Without asking, Malfoy reached for plates and cups. Together they moved to the sofa to eat the simple meal, with little more than monosyllabic grunts for answers and offers. He walked back into the kitchen to retrieve the Ogden's and a second cup. This time she accepted when he offered.

"Ron's favourite drink," she laughed quietly. The adrenaline from before had left her. She glanced his way and saw that he had already finished his second drink and was working on the next. He caught her looking and smiled in return. Actually smiled.

"Think we should head to the library."

She choked on her food. Her eyes bulging from her head, purple-faced. Hearing the words "head to the library" was not the usual fare she got from Harry or Ron, unless they were mocking her, of course. But this was Malfoy...to be perfectly honest, she did not really know him that well, despite having been classmates and childhood enemies. Whether or not he excelled legitimately was something she simply could not say. He intrigued her.

As he ate, he explained his theory about checking the local papers for anything about the murders of the three Muggles. Truly she was astounded by this. Not only did Malfoy understand how and where to access Muggle news, but he also thought of something before she did.

"But that doesn't explain what happened to you, the bruise," Hermione reached to touch near his eye, then thought better of it.

"You weren't the only one attacked today, Granger."

She nodded gravely. "We should go back to the storeroom, see what we can find."

\---------

During their time in the storeroom they found ample evidence that Hermione was not mad, but nothing further. Even the door she had sealed shut was as she left it, but they were no closer to knowing the identity of her attacker. Malfoy busied himself examining the burnt fruit crates, distaste apparent, using the tip of his wand to prod mushy pools. Hermione, meanwhile, attempted several charms trying to produce something useful, becoming frustrated with each failure. At last they gave it up for lost and made their way to the Bristol Central Library.

Together they examined the back issues of the many newspapers available, but found no mention whatsoever. This was hardly surprising, since the entire event had likely been Obliviated from the minds of Muggles involved, but Hermione clung to the hope for some shred of connective tissue between the three victims in their obituaries. None of the papers included death notices for them.

"But this can't be right," Hermione whispered to her companion as he flipped through the back issues before them. "There ought to be _some_ mention of these incidents, because Robards included copies of the police reports." She scanned the articles again for the dates they were given, lost in thought.

"What about in those?" Malfoy motioned towards the computer banks. "Can we access police reports there?"

"Sort of, but not exactly," she conceded. "But not as detailed as what we've already gone over."

"But if our intel is _wrong_..."

Hermione gaped at Malfoy, considering. "We should contact the Department." Hermione left him gazing after her as she headed towards the computers and began furiously typing.

"How do you suppose to do _that_ with _this_ , then?"

"I'm emailing Harry, to see if he can access more information from the inside."

"You're what?"

"Email, Malfoy. Like a..." She breathed, eyeing the other patrons around them, including the librarian watching them like predators. "Like an electronic...owl...going through the computer."

His baffled expression showed that he thought her barmy, but there was no time for explanations. Quickly she typed the missive off and sent it to Harry's address. There was no telling how soon he would reply, so they left before earning any more strange looks.

As they marched out the doors, Malfoy hissed in her ear. "What the hell is an _electronic_ , then? How daft do you think I am, Granger?"

\---------

By the time they made it back to their complex the sun was setting. All the colourful homes, the blues, the yellows, and oranges, took on a deeper yet muted shade, fading back into the hillside. The murky water slapped against the boardwalk and the boats docked there, keeping a slower rhythm than the cars and buses that zoomed past nearby. The streets were full of pedestrians moseying about, snapping photos of each other with the ships as backdrop. Hermione noticed there were not very many children, mostly university students and other young adults, like herself. Delicious aromas wafted from vendors up the way and around the bend. The further they walked from the inland the fewer people she saw, until finally they were near where she and Malfoy were staying. In the distance she could hear faint music, tinny almost. Turning in that direction, she could make out the top of a Ferris wheel. All in all, it was quite a peaceful early evening.

She glanced to her right. Malfoy either did not care or did not see the tranquillity. Instead he was frowning, his left hand clenched into a fist while his right twitched towards his jacket pocket. He took a false step then halted, his head cocking back toward Hermione yet his eyes never leaving whatever had caught his attention down the harbourside. Suddenly he sprinted off.

" _Ma_ -" Hermione sputtered. For an instant she cursed Williamson, and Malfoy, too, for refusing the Polyjuice method, as she full out ran to catch up. He was chasing something she could not quite make out, but flashes of her morning spurred her on. _Please don't pull out your wand!_

In the distance she saw Malfoy trip and nearly tumble down before correcting himself, turning abruptly down an alley. _Not good._ Seconds later she peered down the dark, graffitied alley, the other end of which could not be seen. _Really not good!_

She charged ahead, wand at the ready, Muggles and the Ministry be damned. In the near darkness she could make out movement but could not determine what, or better yet, who it was. After a lifetime with Harry Potter and his penchant for blind heroics, Hermione paused as her eyes desperately sought enough light to discern something as she pursued. The grunts and scuffling sounds led her straight through a maze of broken and discarded crates. _If I ever see another crate, it'll be too soon,_ she complained, her heart pounding madly. Risking exposure she lit the end of her wand as she aimed around the first corner, only to find nothing remarkable. She charged ahead. The sounds of Malfoy struggling and cursing in anger were growing and she used them like a siren's call. Several shaky corners and a few dead ends later, she discovered them.

"Incarcerous!"

Her spell went wide as she was throttled from behind. Whoever had knocked her down was not through with her yet, as she squirmed and thrashed about, her assailant clutching at her arms, reaching for her wand. Immediately sparks erupted from the tip, shocking the man and giving her the needed seconds to scrabble out from under. Hermione shot a binding curse his way and moved on.

Just then a streak of red zoomed past her, singeing the sides of her hair. Hastily she extinguished the light. Beneath the sounds of the skirmish she could hear carnival music, louder now. Lunging forwards, Hermione stretched out her left hand at a body, twisting the material around and used their weight to propel herself further. When the person snatched at her body, then her legs to trip her up, she assumed it was a Death Eater, and spun her top half around, directing a Flipendo his way.

"Damnit, Granger!"

She was wrong.

Draco Malfoy's wand expelled a ball of light high above the alley, temporarily blinding them both. Seconds later, he cursed again. The persons whom he had followed were seen dashing into the mob. Again he left her behind.

Quick on his heels, Hermione dashed down the now empty alley, stopping short when she nearly ran over a man and his child. Their eyes bulged over identical candied apples at her before moving on. Dozens upon dozens of people were gathered at the fair, laughing, screaming on the rides. Bright lights were flashing frenetically in every direction, demanding attention. _Too many bystanders,_ _we'll never find them._ Frantically she scanned the crush of bodies for cloaked figures rushing, huddling even, and then she looked for platinum hair. There were too many people here, too close together. She pushed through, muttering apologies as she went. All of a sudden Hermione felt lightheaded. The music became distorted, a sick mimicry organs. The flashing lights of the Ferris wheel burned harsher, streaking in solid lines of yellow-white. For the life of her, she could not remember what she was doing. She started and stopped repeatedly, unsure where she was going, what she was looking for. Something...someone...her brain refused to cooperate.

From nowhere, Malfoy emerged, fury radiating off him in waves, slinking towards her. The crowd seemed to part before him. His eyes widened when she suddenly collapsed.

\---------

Malfoy half carried Hermione back to their flat without a word. She tried her best to not lean too heavily on him, because she understood his irritation. _So close, so close! How could they have escaped? How long had they seen us, and do they know where we're staying?_ The possibility that at that very moment Death Eaters could be tracking them instead of the reverse kept her on edge. Each time she attempted to glance about she tugged on Malfoy and he wheezed. After the third try and dirty look he sent her she allowed him to lead them on without further struggle. A moment later they reached the lift and she was revived enough to stand on her own.

"Needless to say, Granger," he huffed, "you are cursed."

Her glare could have burned the flat down to smithereens. "Actually, I believe I saved your arse in that alley tonight."

Malfoy scoffed, eyes wide with shock. He stood for a few seconds more, unable to respond further, until finally he laughed outright. "You know, I think that Confundus caused you definite brain damage. Good news is now you and Weasley are on an even playing field." He hobbled a bit towards the counter, divesting himself of his personals.

Hermione sputtered beside him, shook her head and rubbed her left hand up and down her face slowly in an attempt to release the tension. She was better than this petty arguing. They were not children anymore and could act like civilized adults. With a deep breath she began again.

"Could you see them, whoever they were?"

He shook his head, his eyes closed. Beneath his jacket he wore a holster for his wand, which he kept on, but sat to remove his shoes. The sofa groaned softly and he sighed as well. His anxious grey eyes peered back towards where she stood near the door. At his gaze she was compelled to move closer. Hermione silently assessed Malfoy and what they experienced. Survived, really. Considering who they were dealing with, both were lucky to not be worse off than they appeared to be. Still, her instincts told her something was wrong.

"Something's not right here, Malfoy..."

"I'll say! It's you, Granger; you haven't a clue what you're doing here!" His anger was expected, yet quite sudden. She ignored him.

"Why didn't those Death Eaters just Disapparate? Why hide in the carnival crowd?"

"You seriously think we'd hit pay dirt this early in the game?"

"I didn't say it was the Carrows, Malfoy, but one plus one..." It was difficult to keep her temper and not rise to the bait.

"Be rational, Granger: The Carrows - or any Death Eaters, for that matter - would not sully themselves by associating with Muggles. Why would they employ-"

"To throw us off, of course. It makes perfect sense, when you think about it. Use the Muggles to communicate messages, make connections, to kill, even! Malfoy, what if they really _were_ just Muggles? Imperio'd, perhaps..." She continued as though not hearing him. She was more concerned with finding the answers than with Malfoy's wounded pride and spiteful remarks.

"They _weren't_ ," he stressed. "They had wands and knew how to use them."

"Did you witness any magic?" At his look she added, "Other than our own?"

He looked away rather than answer her. She knew she was right, and so did he. Hermione resumed thinking aloud. "By using Muggles they increase their numbers and their advantage over us, knowing we wouldn't hurt innocent people..."

Malfoy harrumphed.

Her sentences lost structure as her brain sped faster than her mouth, creating a deep furrow between her eyes. Ideas came to her but were dismissed before given full consideration. All the while Malfoy watched, listened, and became exasperated by her chattering and pacing.

"That's bollocks, Granger! You make absolutely no sense whatsoever, going round in absurd circles, trying to confuse me even further. Merlin knows how you even managed to become an Auror! And to think, they'd deny me, _me_ the opportunity and send a Muggle-born like you into the upper ranks!" Malfoy seethed, shouting so loudly that in the back of her mind Hermione worried about disturbing their neighbours. Muffliato was definitely called for. In the forefront, however, she was steamed.

"You're unbelievable! Prejudiced and racist! What are you doing that's beneficial? Nothing. At least I'm attempting to figure this out. You just run off, wand aloft, not caring who could see or get hurt. And _I'm_ the one suffering here, me! Robards... fobbed you off on me to babysit." All thought of keeping her temper was forgotten. "No need to remind you, Malfoy, _why_ you were denied! Your loyalties were always to Voldemort, even when you _knew_ what he was capable of - you and your demented family threw yourselves at his feet. All for power and glory!"

Faster than she could anticipate, Malfoy was there, in her face, wand jutting into her neck. "Never... _never_ speak that way about my family again," he threatened darkly, nostrils flaring as he glowered. "You know _nothing_ about it."

Unafraid, she continued. "I know enough; I was there. Your family was nothing but pawns for Voldemort. Your Aunt was the craziest person ever to walk the earth! I remember, Malfoy, how your family allowed her to torture me. And you just stood there. You're just as guilty as she-"

He seized her by the upper arms, shaking her. Her head knocked twice against the door. Dazed for a second she never thought to lift her wand in defence.

"Did you actually think I could've done something, even if I wanted to? Seriously? I had no control...over _anything_! I did the best I cou-" Malfoy struggled to keep her pinned when she at last began to resist his hold. With both hands she shoved at him. He took half a step back and let go.

"Your ‘best' was pitiable. You deserved your punishment, every day and then some, for what you did to all of us!"

He stared down at her, chest heaving, for several seconds. To say he was shocked would be putting it too lightly, but there was no other word for what she saw then in his face. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, her inner voice telling her to shut her big mouth. How do you apologize for something you believe to be right? Can you possibly recant an entire life's belief system in one night, all because of a look?

The blood rushing though her ears pooled in her cheeks as she looked away from him. His chest was still heaving, hot breaths puffing from his slackened mouth, arms akimbo. When she stepped out from her confinement, he collapsed against her former spot.

"All we do is bicker; it's no wonder we're getting nowhere." It was all she could offer, knowing it did not make up for what she had already said and done. She went to bed without any reply.

Hermione did not see him in the morning, or when she finally left the flat after lunch. She spent her time alone retracing her steps so far, analyzing the definite and the possible, until at last she could take no more and thought about Harry. Without a note, she returned to the library.

On the public computer she saw his response, though it was of little help. The file was classified and Robards was not around to answer any questions. Harry knew better than to ask too many Aurors, but still, the lack of information was disheartening.

Harry also not-so-subtly reminded Hermione to be careful on this assignment. She knew exactly what he meant and did not feel the need to correct the assumption. Malfoy was definitely volatile. _And rather defensive_ , she decided. Last night she had not pushed very hard before he detonated in her face. She tried to justify it as stress over the mission, of the effect it would have on his career, especially if they botched it. Or perhaps _she_ was the reason he was on edge, being a _Mudblood_ and all, having to lower himself to depend on her for support. But did he really?

Hermione trusted Malfoy about as far as she could throw him, even though she knew they were now forced to rely on each other. Why was he so adamant against her theories, though? She sincerely doubted it was because of racial prejudice. Any fool could comprehend the carnage of which human beings, magical or not, were capable. And Death Eaters would not abase themselves to physical combat. Why, in any of the attacks yesterday, were no Unforgivables uttered?

Malfoy's time frame for the day before did not match up, she noted. He claimed to have been on his way to see Smothers, when he, too, was attacked. Unless he had been unconscious for several hours, which she highly doubted. And he never really denied her accusations, merely deflected them. Hermione's instincts were always spot on, so how could she let him dissuade her so easily? _Pride goes before the fall, Hermione_. He played upon her fears of inadequacy, like she knew he could, yet she let him distract her. But what if she was wrong and Malfoy was right, about any or all of it? Was one mission worth risking her life on trusting him?

In a huff she stormed from the library, her hair bristling like an aggravated kneazle.

\---------

Back in the flat she slammed, half hoping to confront him. Luckily for him, he had not returned. _Proceed with Plan A_. She set off into his bedroom, rifling through his personals. For someone as wealthy as Malfoy, he appeared to be very Spartan, but she set that thought aside. Something, there had to be _something_ proving her assumptions right. A coward though he may be, Malfoy always looked out for himself first.

She found nothing that proved he was indeed still a Death Eater. _Even so,_ she reasoned, _that doesn't mean he's innocent!_ She knew he was withholding, but what exactly she could not figure out. She gasped. _If he thinks he'll bring the Carrows in himself..._

Angrily she marched back into the front room, stopping with her hands on her hips. Her eyes lighted on the telephone and it dawned on her. Quickly she ran to the coffee table, riling up his stacks of papers, sending sheets off into the floor, until her hand grasped a local phonebook. It's so obvious! Ripping through the pages, quite literally, she stopped when she reached the S's, then took off for the phone. Hermione began to doubt first her intelligence for not thinking of this sooner, and then doubted she would pick up. The call connected.

Over the next few minutes Hermione spoke with Miss Moira Smothers, who sounded no more than a frightened little mouse. It was difficult to convince Smothers that she was who she claimed to be, but at last she believed. What was even more trying was getting Smothers to agree to see her. The woman absolutely refused to allow Hermione over to her home. She could not help but roll her eyes at this demand, considering that she was not only listed in the book, but that Hermione had already been there as well. Still, she permitted the witness to set the terms.

Several moments later, Hermione hung up the phone in satisfaction, glancing at the clock in the kitchen. _Three more hours._ Determined, Hermione left the flat. She stayed near the complex, observing the other tenants, her mind ticking away at the Carrows details. Accused of multiple attacks in Wizard London, leading in the Muggle area as well. Believed to be responsible for the murder of three persons in Swindon one week ago. The Muggles were found outside their homes, apparently falling victim to the Avada Kedavra curse. A handwritten note in the file mentioned that none of the individuals were connected to each other, nor did the Muggle police locate any next of kin to notify. Next the Carrows were said to have been spotted at Wight Tavern, a nearby pub and the reason why she and Malfoy were stationed here, with a third unidentified man. That was where she would meet up with Smothers in a few hours' time.

Comparing what she knew with what she had experienced along with the file, Hermione believed that if the Carrows were disguising themselves as Muggles and had had any idea they had been seen, they would have surely killed Miss Smothers and fled. But yesterday's attacks led her to reconsider.

Why was Malfoy so adamant the Carrows were not using Muggles as decoys or underlings?

If only she were allowed to use magic...She understood Williamson's caution, since the nearest Magical community was nearly fifty miles north, and that any magic could be detected by the enemy just as easily as by the Ministry. But how were the Carrows themselves surviving without giving their location away? Purebloods such as themselves would be the proverbial fish out of water in such circumstances. Surely the Ministry would alert them when they were detected...unless someone was intercepting...

It all came back to trusting Malfoy. Might just as well have asked Hermione to give up reading.

Just because he was a Ministry official like herself did not make him trustworthy, as she could attest from personal experience. He frightened her. When they were children, not so much; he was nothing more than a school yard bully then. But after Dumbledore... Something in his fighting methods made him seem ruthless, more dangerous, something that insisted she relinquish, which was not her style. Hermione Granger was as stubborn as they came and everyone knew it. Yet Malfoy had a way of sending her off track and questioning herself. He may not be her enemy but that did not automatically make him her ally. She plopped herself down on a planter box.

The late afternoon sun began to affect her physically, her eyes drooping as she thought about her circumstances. It was like he had cast a Confundus on her whenever she was around him for very long. He made it difficult to think clearly, stay focused. Of course it had nothing to do with his looks, as Ginny Weasley would accuse. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Hermione considered his face to be too pointy, his colouring too washed out to be considered appealing. Striking would be more accurate, she decided. There were currents of attractiveness to him. Money and wealth were never traits she personally found tempting. His personality, however, was repellent. _How could one person house such an ego in so tiny a head?_

 _He's dangerous_. Yes, that must be it. Many women the world over fell for the bad boy. Malfoy definitely had the makings of a recidivist, in her opinion. Unlike Harry or Ron, Malfoy definitely had the allure of the forbidden about him. Funny that his criminal past could be perceived as _character_ to vapid women, like Pansy Parkinson, or Astoria Greengrass, whom it was purported, was his fiancée.

Hermione sighed, her thoughts turning to Ron. She realized she had not been thinking of him until now. Granted, it had only been a few days since their separation for this mission, but she discovered she had not missed him much. Or, at all, really. After years of unrequited love, she had him. They were together, in love, and were getting married. _Some_ _day._ He was everything she had ever wanted in a man. No, that was not true; she could not even fool herself with that anymore. He was stubborn to a fault and often thoughtless. But she knew these things about him - known him most of his life, was one of his best friends, and they had the kind of relationship others dreamed about. It was the fairy tale: boy meets girl, girl falls for boy, boy is stupid and blind, overlooks girl, but in the end they fall in love and get married. _Some_ _day._

Sadly, she realized it very likely would not get better than how it was right now between them. They would marry, live in a small home of their own, and be Mr. and Mrs. Auror. Eventually they would have children. Whenever the topic was breeched, Ron blushed to the tips of his ears, but she understood he expected a large family, just like he had had growing up. Being the only child, Hermione idealized the idea of having a brood of her own, but in reality, it was not her dream. Settling down, having a bunch of kids...she would have to give up her career. What career? She rubbed at her temples, trying to abate the forming headache. When would there be time to transition over to another department if she became a mother? Hermione was no anti-feminist, but simply a realist. In order to provide the kind of family life Ron imagined would be a full time job in and of itself. Her dreams would get put aside, for his, all for first love.

 _This i_ _s not a path_ _to be taking now! Analyzing your love life and career choices is completely irrational, especially when in the field,_ she scolded herself. Hermione stood to walk, hoping that by stimulating her body with physical exertion she might also rejuvenate her mind.

The laps around the harbourside gave her much needed resolve. To Hell with Malfoy, she would follow her instincts, and her instincts told her where to go next.

\---------

Everything Hermione had been anticipating before stepping into Wight Tavern was quickly squashed to bits. Considering the positive changes in the neighbourhood, she was astonished that such a pub would remain open, let alone have clientele to serve. Located beneath a hotel, Wight Tavern was little more than a cellar turned tavern, with bare bulb lights dangling at random, and the smell of mildew and piss underlying the greasy food served there. She began to question her judgment in coming here alone.

Gingerly she sat upon a stool at the bar where an oily man in a sweat-stained, ratty t-shirt stood gawking at her. The bored expression on his face belied his interest in her order, so she simply motioned for a draught. Hermione stood out, which was in direct opposition of any Auror's mission. She had run back to the flat to clean up, but apparently her idea of what to wear to the pub was not the consensus. _This was a mistake._

Before the first barman could fill her order, a pint appeared from behind. A waitress with dishevelled hair looking like it had never been washed turned away before she could thank her. Cautiously she took a sip. That was when she noticed it.

Attached to the bottom of her mug was a napkin with something written upon it. Rather than chug the entire thing, she nonchalantly peeled the now wet note off and tried to read it while scanning the shady pub.

It was difficult to make out, squinting in the limited light, undoubtedly drawing more attention to herself. _Turn...turn..._ Suddenly she felt someone drop onto the stool beside her.

"Really, _Sarah_ , my script isn't that difficult," drawled the dapper man beside her. Looking up she recognized Draco Malfoy, but just barely. He, too, had thought to change his appearance, and from the look of it, expected the bar to be of a different atmosphere as well.

"Nice outfit, _David_. You look like an arse-ban-"

"Whatever you were about to utter, I suggest you not," he seethed through his teeth. She watched his jaw clench and unclench a few times before turning to face her. If not for the platinum hair, Malfoy could very well have blended into a posh pub in his sweater and slacks. He did make a picture of a tosser, though, in this one. She repressed a smirk.

The patrons of this public house were no better off than the staff. Men of a certain age and certain decrepitude seemed to flock here, drinking, smoking, shooting pool. The noise level increased every time either team on the telly scored, then died back down to practically nothing. Hermione panned the room, meeting winks and snarls alike from men older than her own dad. Near the door sat a particular man peering at her from behind monstrous glasses, his eyes filling the lenses, smiling at her. The only teeth she could see were the canines and his tongue peeked out again and again, licking and slurping her way. Hermione escaped back into her pint.

"My God, Sarah, you really are quite the lush. Going to have to hide my Ogden's when we get back." The brief look of disgust she gave him was replaced by anxious glances towards another outburst. Malfoy steered her by the elbow, motioning towards a booth near the back. She resisted, nearly sloshing her beer on them both. His disapproving look had no effect on her as she remained on her stool. Taking the hint, he walked away.

A few seconds passed in which Hermione weighed her choices: follow Malfoy into a dark booth, or open herself up to Toothless there, who was rising as she glanced his way. Without a second thought she practically jumped down and scampered after him.

"Since you never learned to read, I'll tell you what was written." He slid into the booth before she could choose the side facing the door, as she would have preferred. "Been here nearly an hour, waiting. In all your very covert observations of the room," she glared at him as he spoke, "not once did you _turn around_ to see me. I find that very assuring in an Auror."

She leaned in closer towards him, clenching her pint between both hands. "Why are you here?"

He was stoic. "I knew you'd come charging in on a white steed to save the day and bring in the bad guys. Couldn't very well let you take all the credit for my hard work, especially since you've done nothing productive thus far."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush and could not be certain if it was the half-gone pint or the look he was giving her. She hesitated, thinking back on her resolve to go ahead without his help. Sitting back to drink, she replied, "Stuff if up your arse, Malfoy."

"Such language from the Golden Girl. Tell me, then," he lowered his voice, unable to keep back the smirk when she hesitantly looked back, "does it turn _Weasleby_ on, all that dirty talk?"

"About as much as it turns your boyfriend on, I'd reckon."

He sent his glare towards the bar at her triumphant smile. Her glory at getting one up on him, though, was short lived. "And I'm positive I could keep a man more satisfied than you ever could."

Hermione snorted, wide-eyed. Her smile grew wider.

"Jesus, Gra-" he yelled, then quieted. "I'm not a sodding queer, all right?" Angrily he snatched his beer off the table, chugged it back, and slammed it down again. "Stop looking at me like that!"

All animosity was forgotten as she laughed at his expense.

\---------

One drink turned into several as they waited for any sign of Moira Smothers. She was late. Somehow Malfoy knew she was meeting the witness here, though he refused to admit how. Several times she leaned around the high-back booth to peer towards the door, never seeing anyone who looked frightened enough to be her.

The conversation was stunted once or twice, but eventually turned from the case, which was too difficult to really get into, towards her friends. She matched his wit each time, both taking turns at surprising the other with low blows. A few jibes at Harry and Ron she could overlook, but when he started up on poor Neville, she had to put a stop to him.

"Neville Longbottom is the nicest man since Dumbledore himself! I can't _believe_ you could be so cruel as to call him a-" Malfoy cut her off with a wave of his mug.

"Face it, Granger," their cover names long forgotten, "Longbottom is a class-A poof." He was laughing, truly laughing, at the shakes of her head, her refusal to even listen as she clutched at her ears.

When she believed him to have stopped, she lowered her hands, hissing, "You're a nasty little ferret." He laughed harder at this, hailing for a waitress to bring another round.

The pub had filled up since she arrived and the telly and clamour increased. Over in the corner a jukebox was put to use, filling the bar with classic rock and roll. Some patrons were even singing along, banging down on their tables and stomping to the beat. No one, not one person in the going on three hours they had been stationed there, seemed remotely to be connected to the magical world. Hermione was amazed that such a quiet woman as Moira Smothers seemed would regularly come to this kind of place. Her imagination started spinning as she envisioned Smothers as a librarian turned biker chick, giggling to herself. Malfoy turned back. The minimal light in the pub seemed to be attracted to him, clinging to his light hair and eyes. _Hrm, attractive_. When he was not being a total arse, Malfoy could absolutely pass for a decent, even charismatic man. Her thoughts startled her. She thanked the proprietor of the dive for the dimness that hid her blush. _Time to change the topic._

"So," she cleared her throat, turning her fresh pint around on the table. "When are you and Astoria getting married, then?"

Too late did she realize _that_ was not the best choice. His smile vanished at once and he seemed to clam up before her eyes. It was her turn to look away. Malfoy cleared his throat next, emphasizing the inappropriateness of her question. "We're not."

And that was all he said.

A minute passed, then two more before he spoke again. "Obviously she's not going to show. Let's leave this dump; I've had enough of these disgusting Muggles for one night." As he stood he dropped a few Galleons on the table, muttering to himself. "Worse than the Hog's Head on a Friday night..."

Hermione surreptitiously replaced the money for Pounds and bum-scooted her way out of the booth, stumbling a bit and bumping into him. "Easy there, Granger! No need to throw yourself at me."

\---------

A short walk later they staggered back into the flat, Hermione being rather tipsy. Malfoy was enjoying the display, whispering to her several times during the trip how comforting it was to see a member of the Golden Trio debasing herself to his level. All she could manage was a nod and a giggle.

Malfoy tossed off his sweater, letting it fall from the counter to the floor unnoticed, then set about digging in the kitchen cupboards. Meanwhile, Hermione slipped off her shoes. Automatically she began unfastening the buttons on her blouse, needing more air, and only stopped when she had fallen onto the sofa.

Several banged doors later, a more relaxed Malfoy appeared carrying two cans. "Sorry about the tins." He grinned sheepishly. "Astoria or the house elves always do this for me."

The pair tucked in as if famished, making short order of the cold sausages and fruit. Normally neither would eat such things, together no less, but to Hermione it tasted like the best meal she had ever had. She barely noticed when Malfoy reached down beside the littered table and produced the Firewhiskey from the other night. Having lost all dignity by eating straight from the tins with his fingers, he took a swig directly from the bottle, then offered it her way and she did as well.

"I must say, you've acclimated much better than I anticipated, what with no house elves, no magic." In the back of her mind she was amazed he did not rant about manners or Mudblood cooties. Angrily she handed the bottle back, but he did not seem to notice.

"The hardest part of all of this has been having to live with you." Her large wide eyes cut his way, the dripping fruit between her finger and thumb drooping. _Now he's back in form._ "I don't know how you manage every day to tame that wild beast on your head without magic, either. I suppose that's why you spend most waking hours in the lav."

Malfoy snickered as she yanked the Ogden's back again, glaring at him the whole time. "How naïve of me to think you were a decent human being."

"Allow me to remind you, Granger: We're not friends. Don't delude yourself. When this is all said and done we won't meet up for Sunday brunch at the Hovel-"

"The _Burrow_!"

"-'re simply partners resigned to the same outcome, for once."

Her bitterness found its way out through a snort. Choosing to ignore his jibes, which she now knew were all bark and no bite, she changed courses. "You never answered my question."

"What question was that?"

" _Why_ are we partners? What did Williamson mean..." She tried to think back, _how long have we been here?_ Dismissively she shook her head. "The other day? You came to him...?"

Hermione Granger had a knack, apparently, for shutting Draco Malfoy straight up. He stilled for a second or two, and she had just resigned herself to never knowing, when, to her great surprise, he replied.

"My family name is not what it used to be, as you very well know," he began quietly. "I'm not used to rejection, to being...denied something I want. It's not how I was raised." Malfoy chuckled sullenly. Hermione remained perfectly still, not wishing to break whatever spell had him freely giving a straight answer.

"Three years. Three excruciating, disgusting, mind-numbing years in Hell. I saw no one - not a single, damn person other than my solicitor for the first twelve months or so. They finally let my Mother come see me, once. Still haven't seen my Father." The bottle of Ogden's was nearly gone by this time, so she offered it back and he accepted. "Do you know they wouldn't let me in the program? Even though I served my full sentence, without incidence, they still found a way to keep me back. The best they would give me was Hit Wizard."

Hermione's eyesight became bleary from the lateness and the drinking, but still she watched and listened. Malfoy slammed the bottle against the littered coffee table, rattling the tins a bit. "I'll never get back what my family lost. Williamson..."

She had to scoot closer to hear him, he was practically whispering now.

"...for two years now, been telling Williamson that I wanted in, that I could do it, could _prove_ myself. He was the only one in the Department who seemed to have read the trial transcripts and knew,--"

Her hand found its way to his forearm and just rested there, assuredly. His eyes fell to it at once. She could feel the heat radiating from his body through his sleeve. Was it her imagination, alcohol induced perhaps, or did that snake of his Dark Mark slither and shudder at her touch? Hermione understood now. Bringing in the Carrows would mean a promotion for him, in every way. When she squeezed he met her eyes and she noticed they were as glassy red as her own, but there was something else there: Determination.

He turned away, half-smiling, pulling slightly to free his arm and she let him.

"So." He cleared his throat roughly, eyeing her ring. He tried again. "When are you and _Weasleby_ tying the knot, Granger? You're so keen on my affairs, yet yours are left just as undone, it would seem." In a very unlady-like fashion she laughed outright, her eyes going almost protuberant. Instead of answering him she took another pull from the bottle he presented. It burned its way down her throat, searing the lining of her stomach, unsettling the contents it met. Reflux burned the opposite way. Hermione squeezed her eyes when they watered so Malfoy took the opportunity to relieve her of the Ogden's.

"This isn't right. This isn't how it was supposed to be," she whispered, running the back of her hand across her mouth.

"See, I _knew_ you would mock my cooking," he smiled before taking his next drink. Hermione did not seem to hear him, though.

"I always wanted to do something worthwhile," she began wistfully as she tapped her sausage against the rim to knock off as much liquid as possible. "And somehow _this_ is what I ended up with: being an Auror and _just_ engaged. Nothing further." The smile fell away as he listened. "Honestly, it's the ‘further' than frightens me most these days."

"I feel," she sighed, tossing the meat aside, "...stagnant, lost. I don't know exactly where I'm meant to be, but surely this isn't it." For a second she cringed, interpreting her words as he would as ungrateful for what she spurned and he desired. When had she become so maudlin? Suddenly she experienced a surge in energy. "I had dreams in school, ideals. I wanted to change the world, make it better. And Harry and Ron - we were inseparable then, fighting against evil, and making a difference! Even though the boys ridiculed me, teased me. Have you any idea how difficult it was to get them to support S.P.E.W.?"

Malfoy blinked at her outburst. His eyebrows fretted together in evident confusion, lifting to finish off the bottle. "You're blotto, Granger, no doubt about that."

"How could you possibly understand?" She moaned. "You were born with a silver elf in your mouth."

A fountain of alcohol sprayed nearly to the opposite wall as he choked. His colourful curses did not affect her as much as she had him. Still she laughed at him while he threw the bottle across the small room. He turned back, laughing as well. Her head was delightfully fuzzy and buzzing and other _zzz-ings_. Without willing it, her right hand reached up to brush his fringe aside, effectively cutting off his laughter. He swallowed nervously, his Adam's apple drawing her attention as it bobbed once, twice. The hand continued down his cheek and swiped away the spittle and alcohol it found on his lips.

Hermione missed his eyes as they darkened and focused on her face while she was transfixed by his mouth, so pliable yet rubbery to the touch. She could not really say it was unexpected when he began kissing her, but it was surprising just the same. For some reason she thought his lips would be cold and slimy, reptilian even, not soft and warm and delicious. She could taste the fruit syrup there, mixed with the faint burn of alcohol. His hands tugged her closer, pulling her nearly into his lap as he deepened the kiss. Hermione lost her breath in his mouth and found his to replace it.

His left hand wound into her hair, which was a mistake and an instant mood killer when it got stuck. Tugging, trying to be gentle at least, the pair struggled. It was the watch, the one she had questioned the day before, that was tangled up. Strands of her hair were caught in the metal links of the band.

Finally he was freed so she made to stand, dodging his attempt to keep her on the sofa. _Oh, God, what have I done? What's wrong with me?_ Horrified, with her head down she made her way back to her room, incoherently muttering a good night.

Ron's lopsided grin greeted Hermione when she entered, throwing herself against the door. Her head throbbed in protest and that beaming face only angered her further. It was his fault, she reasoned, for not marrying her before now; for not asserting his manhood and simply taking her by the hand, as it were. If he had only done that, she would not be in the mess she found herself tonight, making out with Draco _Sodding_ Malfoy. She plopped face down on top of the bedding, exhausted, flushed and most definitely confused.

After a moment she turned over and grabbed the photo. It was from their engagement party at the Burrow. Ginny had snapped it. Hermione had never been happier than that afternoon, two years ago. It was her decision, actually, to hold off going to the next level in their relationship until she had finished her training. But two years had passed and they were still in the same place.

Well, almost. Now everything was muddled up, thanks to Malfoy. It may not be Ron's fault, but it most definitely was _Malfoy's_. No, if Ron had married her before now, she would be in an even bigger mess. For the first time, Hermione gave serious thought to the alternative.

Soon she was fretfully asleep.

\---------

Something was burning.

At first it was just warm in the room, not uncomfortable, but _close_. But the scent invoked images of oversized ducks floating in Hades, their wings tipped in flames. Hermione choked when she breathed in, coughing and sputtering awake. It was not a dream. The smoke detector down the hall began to wail, confirming her nightmares. Something was burning and it most assuredly was their flat!

Along with the siren she could hear laughter, crazy, hysterical laughter. _Bellatrix_. No, she was dead and gone. Quickly Hermione raced from her bedroom, still half-dressed from just hours before. In the hallway she slid in her hosiery, hitting the opposite wall. "Malfoy! Wake up!" _My wand, wand, fire, need help!_ Her mind ran faster than her feet possibly could as she tripped into the living area.

The fire must have started in here, considering the blazes that ate away at everything surrounding. The once white walls were blackened in streaks, paint and paper peeling away like flesh off the bone. Try as she might, Hermione could barely see before her. Absently her training returned to her. She dropped to the floor to escape the smoke and reached for a nearby towel. It was not a towel, in fact, but rather Malfoy's discarded sweater. Her mind flashed again to him, where was he?

Slowly she began crawling towards the exit. Her addled brain sent off a warning to just go out the fire exit, to leave, _save yourself_. Her wand was in here, somewhere. _And Malfoy, too._

Taking as deep a breath as she dared, Hermione called out for her wand. It flew, hitting her square in the face. One down. From her crouch she cast an Aguamenti charm towards the closest flames. Seconds turned over into years, it seemed, yet her spell was ineffectual. She cried out again for Malfoy when the ceiling collapsed beside her into a singeing heap of plaster and insulation.

There it was again, the laughter. Thinking it part of her dream before, or even just anxiety, she now peered up in the direction it came from. She need not have bothered, for the next second the giggle was identified.

"Alecto, let's go! It's time!"

The Carrows had finally come out from hiding, burning them in their sleep like the cowards they were. Without hesitation Hermione shot off an Expelliarmus. If only she had had a clear look where they were, she would have hit one. Instead she gave herself way. _Damn!_ A shadow dashed for the kitchen while another headed towards the exit.

Taking shallow breaths, Hermione aimed again. Her spell blew the cupboard doors off their hinges, knocking the figure off kilter before exploding into dust. From his curses she deduced it was Amycus.

With her wand at eye level, she used the other arm to crawl beneath the overhang of the kitchen bar. One beat, two. She launched herself just as he was retaliating. Hermione Stupefied him dead between the eyes. Amycus howled out like a banshee, giving Hermione the needed location to send ropes to bind him.

Quickly thinking, Hermione flung her wand hand, sending out her Patronus for help. The silver otter zoomed through the inferno, barely discernable among the smoke. A sharp, icy pain sliced through her right shoulder and she collapsed, spinning back to face the living area, her wand falling away. _Alecto._

The squat witch stood hunched over not six feet before Hermione, her piggy face scrunched up in anger. "You're time's up, Muddy! Crucio!"

With no time to shield herself, Hermione crumpled and shook as the pain seared through her body. Nothing else existed - not the fire, not Ron, or Harry; just pain. What seemed like days went by before suddenly it ended. Panting, expecting it to begin again, she was surprised when nothing at all happened. Slowly the smoke came back to her and her own desperate wheezing caused her to choke.

The fire was so bright and _everywhere_ , smoke muting everything and as impenetrable as a thick wet gauze, she scrambled to where she believed her wand had flown, shocked to see a tall figure there instead. _Malfoy, at last._

Hermione could hear their duelling shouts just barely over the roaring flames growing steadily. Holes began to eat their way through the walls, the floor, charred furniture collapsing through here and there, spreading the fire to the other levels. They had to get out before they burned alive, trapped.

Forcing her legs to lift her dead weight, she shakily stood, bent over best she could, utilizing the carnage as protection. Through the fire and smoke, multicoloured jets zoomed all around, the most easily recognized being the Killing Curse coming from where the front window once was. Sometime, whether by fire or magic, the glass had shattered outward, giving the smoke a wider space to fill. The fire alarm continued to wail and Hermione could make out the screams of their neighbours calling out for help. Glancing towards the busted-open door she saw her wand and called for it.

Behind her she could also hear Amycus moaning and struggling against his confinement. As much as she hated the Carrows for what they had done to her friends and the innocent victims, she could not leave him there to burn. She was not that person.

"Petrificus Totalus!" she wheezed, and he quit struggling. She used what little strength she had regained to levitate him out of the kitchen and towards the outer hall, where the flames seemed to have extinguished. Over the milieu she could hear Alecto taunting Malfoy.

"Never was his favourite, baby Malfoy! Disgrace, you was. Not worthy of your blood, you ‘orrible little blood-traitor!" spat Alecto, her doughy face puffing up like a blowfish as she served curses in wide arcs over her head.

Malfoy, to his credit, did not mince words but rather took advantage of the opening she presented, sending non-verbal jinxes her way, one particular hitting his mark enough to stun her temporarily. In the instant she was knocked back, he turned, searching for Hermione. Across the short distance he caught her eye. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest as his gaze turned fearful. She looked behind her.

_Too late._

She was hammered to the floor as though by a giant, a chair disintegrating on top of her, singeing her arms as she protected her face. Looming above her was Amycus, his lopsided leer leaking giggles maliciously. _How the hell did he break free?_

"Thought you had us, eh, _cupid stunt_? Thought wrong then, yeah? Fooled you right good, yeah? Yeah," he crowed, and then barked, "No, you don't!"

Distracted by his terrible dialect, Hermione allowed herself to be disarmed again. Amycus drew back his foot and kicked her, barking with laughter. She felt the blood running out her nose and trickling down the back of her throat. From this angle she could not see how Malfoy was faring against Alecto, but she worried more that she could not hear them.

"No bother, girly; he ain't here to help you. Him's with us, he is!" His piggy eyes were squeezed tight together while he cackled at her shock. _Malfoy's in on it._ And she _knew_ , she suspected, many times, but she ignored it or let herself be convinced otherwise. A trap, all of it, the entire time he had been the enemy within; still a Death Eater. She played right into his trap.

It surprised her greatly when the light of recognition went off for Amycus and he laughed so hard he looked to the traitor behind her to gloat. That was when she attacked. Into his face she flung the sweater, effectively blinding him long enough to Accio her wand. In the split second she spied the empty bottle of Ogden's glinting dully near a wall of sputtering flames. She grabbed it, turning half around to send it directly into its owner's face. He screamed, but it was not Malfoy's voice. Not wasting the seconds to investigate, Hermione instead immobilized Amycus again. Two seconds later the clamoring near the window drew her attention. A man in a heavy cloak jumped out.

Unbelieving, she dashed best she could through the fiery ruin of the flat, burning into smithereens around her, to see below. The billowing black cloak hid him well, but Hermione refused to let him escape. There was no time for the stairs, even though the flat was four storeys high. Her heart tried to kill her before her brain could lead her body to do it by making the jump. With a silent prayer she plummeted.

Hermione attempted to roll when she landed but only managed to twist her legs under her. If the shooting, pulsing pain in her leg was not indication enough, the awkward angle of her knee clued her in that it was definitely broken. Gritting her teeth, she made to stand. It was a struggle, but she managed after a few tries, tears leaking out against her will.

Wiping them away with her left hand, she saw the body. Mere meters from her - how did she not see it before? - was a man lying prone. Focusing at last she recognized Malfoy. Her first instinct was worry followed immediately by satisfaction. _Good! Saves me the trouble of having to kill you myself._

The wall beside her ricocheted the missed hex between her and Malfoy back towards the courtyard. When she instinctively dodged the hit, she put too much weight on her broken leg, crying out again. In the distance she heard approaching sirens. _About time..._ Another curse came closer this time so she flung herself behind a planter.

From the side Williamson appeared. _Thank God,_ she thought. _They got the message. It's over_. This last thought echoed again and again as she watched Williamson raise his wand and fire the Cruciatus Curse.

Again caught in the Unforgiveable curse, Hermione could process nothing except the pain. It was never-ending, roiling through from the tips of her toes to the roots of her teeth. She was deaf to her own screams, and then suddenly it stopped.

Slowly different levels of sound returned. First, the sirens, then the voices of the gawkers and recently homeless sobbing, followed by a voice much closer, quieter. Williamson was talking to her.

"...sorry, dear girl, but this is how it ends for you. No fanfare, no glorious to-do. Just... _pain_..."

She was ready this time.

She aimed a Reducto just above his head, causing brick and mortar to cascade down. The moment this afforded her was not wasted. _One, two, three._ Hermione hobbled back around the building, away from the people. As hoped, Williamson followed. She mentally stopped short - _Where was_ _Alecto_ _?_ Frantically she scanned the courtyard, seeing nothing but shadows and coloured lights cast by the fire trucks. _Ample places to hide..._ Decidedly she turned about and took a stand.

Williamson appeared, caught off guard as she tried to disarm him. The Aurors faced off, duelling wildly, both seemingly evenly matched, which was _not good._ Quickly thinking, Hermione darted down the harbourside, towards the docks. Again he chased after but lost her in the darkness. She crouched down behind a tower of empty, haphazardly stacked crates, where she could not see him but could definitely hear him panting down the way, his portly figure working against him, heaving with every pounding gallop.

Wheezing, he paused. He was close. Too close.

"Come out, come out to play, little bitch," cried her former superior in a sickly lilt, his voice echoing eerily, seemingly all around her. Her heart was crawling up through her throat, treacherously trying to kill her first. Inspiration hit. Pointing her wand to her throat she held her breath for several seconds then cast the spell.

"Why, Williamson?"

Madly he spun about, searching for the witch. His footsteps where disjointed as he began then stopped, seeking out her disembodied voice. Hermione silently crawled, still favoring her broken leg, to peer between the damp wooden barricades. Williamson was dashing back and forth, aiming but not shooting at every shadow. Again she called out.

"Why would you turn traitor?"

His frantic probing kept him safe from Hermione's wand, regrettably. Really she did not expect an answer, so when he replied she was effectively attentive. And distracted.

"Why? Surely you've figured that out by now! You're such a _clever_ little Mudblood." The racial slur shocked her, sounding so completely foreign coming from a man who had mentored her. Her stomach recoiled in disgust and fear. "You and your verminous lot are responsible for the world we live in now! Potter bested the Dark Lord, and you and that redheaded bastard did your parts as well, didn't you? But not for much longer! The Dark Lord cannot be conquered. He will return, just as before, and I," his voice boomed with sadistic pride, " _I_ will be rewarded for ridding the world of filth like you!"

Williamson was now desperately looking for her hiding place, resorting to randomly firing down passages, crates exploding everywhere, sodden wood raining down on them. His face contorted in rage, becoming less human with every second she evaded his wand. The veins in his forehead stood out stark white on his ruddy face, his left hand clenching, anticipating the kill.

"Voldemort's dead, Williamson. Dead and gone," her voice reverberated monotonously while she furtively stood, stepping closer. She scanned the dockyard for Alecto while still keeping one eye on Williamson. She could hear the dark water in the harbor slap at the pier, almost soothingly. She stalled. "So that was your plan? To kill me? Which one of you thought it up: you, or Malfoy?"

Williamson spat. "Malfoy! He's nothing to me. Two birds, one stone. Getting rid of the runt was simply a message: The Dark Lord does not suffer failures."

Baffled by this revelation, Hermione did not know whether to believe it or not. She stumbled, giving herself away. Williamson charged, shooting curses in rapid succession.

Her blunder nearly cost her life as she retaliated, running in reverse the best she could down the pier. A burst of green zoomed over her, barely missing. Her throbbing leg fought against every step until it finally gave out. Quickly she righted herself, preparing for a final showdown.

Without warning, Williamson skidded to a halt, not six meters away. She held her breath. Slowly his body toppled, face down, his eyes staring blankly at her the entire time. Hermione heard nothing but the blood surging in her ears. Gasping, she saw him. There, just past the crumpled villain, stood Draco Malfoy, gradually lowering his wand.

\---------

The firemen managed to extinguish the fire with the unknown help of half a dozen wizards and witches. Stealthily several Ministry officials made their way through the crowd and just as easily carried out damage control over the Muggles. Tomorrow all they will know is that an electrical fire began in an unoccupied flat. The insurance companies will handle the rest.

What they would never know is how close they came to death. Or that the Carrows got away.

Robards found Hermione in the throng. Expecting a criticism, or possibly, she secretly hoped, praise, she was stunned by what he actually said. Smothers was found dead in her home, same as the three in Swindon. Performing Prior Incantato revealed that Williamson was responsible.

Hermione's brain refused to wrap around what was now evident. It had been Williamson all along. He had been working on the inside for years, feeding information to the enemy. She was astounded, to say the least, that he had managed to escape detection during the Second War.

 _All this time, under our noses and in our lives, going unseen while others were persecuted for less._ Hermione looked for Malfoy. Turning around she spied him being attended by a young healer. As the young witch scanned his body with her wand, Hermione noticed both were smiling at each other. _Prat._

Her frown melted away into a pensive stare. He was not going to get the promotion. With sudden awareness, she acknowledged there never was a promotion.

When Healer Phillip discharged her, she only felt sore, her leg having been easily healed. Malfoy, she had heard, suffered a broken arm and leg when he was pushed out the window by Alecto. What became of the brother and sister duo was left to assumption. No bodies were found in their flat, so she had to have rescued her brother while Hermione was fighting Williamson.

Slowly she made her way towards Malfoy. He turned to look at her as she approached, his tired face hardening slightly at the determined look she gave. Malfoy waited for her to speak first.

"I wanted," Hermione began hesitantly, "to say ‘thank you'. For saving my life." She could not meet his eyes, afraid of the mockery she might find. Mentally she berated herself for chickening out. She had meant to say she was sorry for doubting him, for failing to give him the same benefit of the doubt she gave to nearly everybody else. But the other was just as true, and so much easier.

Malfoy did not acknowledge her. Instead he said, "Alecto snapped my wand, did you know?" When she looked up she met his eyes and held them.

Shocked, Hermione moved to sit beside him on the bench as he related his version of the night. Listening intently she interrupted him frequently, taking full of advantage of his disclosure. She, in turn, filled him in on what she learned from Amycus and Williamson. She did not, however, include her suspicions of his involvement, although deep down she knew he knew.

Williamson helped the Carrows escape from Azkaban, they determined. Although never an official Death Eater, he was definitely a supporter with aspirations. It was not difficult to figure out that he had been the brains behind the Swindon murders, using hairs from the victims to create enough Polyjuice to adequately disguise the three of them until they could regroup with others or possibly escape.

"It would have worked, too, if he hadn't decided to add the cherry on top by killing us."

"Killing _you_. _I_ was expendable."

"No, you were just as much a threat. And he wanted us to know everything he'd done, to see how _intelligent_ ," she made tally marks in the air, "he was to not only pull off their escape, but by doing us in as well. Why else would he personally take us in, set up the profile? He very well could have been expecting us to do _each other_ in, considering our history," she reasoned aloud. "We played right into his hands." Her head fell forward, exhaustion finally catching up to her. "Did we fail, Malfoy?"

"We got the bad guy, Granger. I wouldn't call that failure."

"But the Carrows escaped; we've no idea where they've gone."

"Together they have the intellectual equivalent of an ant farm. Do you _really_ think we won't catch up to them?"

She blinked. " _We_?"

"There'll be an investigation, to be sure. And I'll get shuffled in the mix, forgotten." He forced a sigh, focusing more on his own dissatisfaction than on her raised curiosity. She laughed, catching on.

"Oh, I don't know, Malfoy." She smirked at her partner. "You're _very_ unpleasant when you want to be. I'm certain you can annoy the right people so that you'll get your way, eventually."

Malfoy flashed a grin at her, topping it off with a wink. "Only if I have the pleasure of annoying you most of all, Granger."


End file.
